Chapter 2: The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Michael stared at his phone as though it were a loaded gun.
Vanessa's lips parted. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving behind two unnatural red patches.
And I stood in the middle of the living room, listening to my dead mother's name ring through the silence.
“That isn't possible,” I whispered.
The call ended.
A second later, a message appeared.
Michael turned the screen away, but not before I caught a glimpse of the words.
*You have until midnight. Return what belongs to her, or the truth comes out.*
I reached for his phone.
He pulled it away.
“Give it to me.””
“Claire, please.””
“Give me the phone!””
Ava began crying again.
Michael looked at her, and something changed in his expression. For one brief moment, he looked less like the successful businessman who had replaced me with a younger wife and more like the frightened man I remembered from the night my mother died.
He handed me the phone.
The number was unfamiliar. No contact photo. No other messages. Just the missed call and that one sentence.
I dialed it.
The number was disconnected.
Vanessa seized the opportunity.
“This is ridiculous. Someone is playing a sick joke.””
“Then why are you shaking?”” I asked.
She immediately folded her arms.
“Because you're accusing me of something I didn't do.””
“You admitted on that recording that my mother's violin contained documents.””
“I was talking about an old insurance policy.””
“What insurance policy?””
Vanessa glanced at Michael.
He looked away.
I felt a cold pressure settle in my chest.
“Michael, what did my mother leave behind?””
He took a long breath.
“Your mother was involved in some complicated financial matters.””
I almost laughed.
“My mother taught piano lessons at a community center. She lived in a two-bedroom house and drove a twelve-year-old Honda. What complicated financial matters?””
“You never knew everything about her.””
“Then tell me what I didn't know.””
He glanced at Vanessa again.
She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
That tiny movement told me more than either of them had said.
I took Ava's hand.
“We're leaving.””
Michael moved toward the front door before I could reach it.
“Claire, wait. If you leave with that recorder, you could put Ava in danger.””
I stopped.
“Who is the man on the recording?””
“I don't know.””
Vanessa let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
“Michael, don't lie to her.””
He spun around.
“Not another word.””
She stared at him.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
It was a small smile, but there was nothing kind about it.
“You're still protecting her,” Vanessa said.
“Even after everything her mother did to you.””
Michael's jaw tightened.
I stepped between them.
“Protecting me from what?””
Neither answered.
Ava tugged on my sleeve.
“Mommy, I think there's something else.””
She knelt beside the coffee table and carefully picked up the broken violin's body. One side had split near the bridge, exposing a dark hollow beneath the polished wood.
Something metallic glinted inside.
My breath caught.
“Don't touch it,” Vanessa snapped.
Ava froze.
I turned toward her.
“Why?””
“Because it's dangerous.””
“What's dangerous about an old violin?””
Vanessa's composure finally cracked.
“Because your mother stole something that wasn't hers!””
Her words echoed through the room.
Michael closed his eyes.
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
“What did she steal?””
Vanessa pressed both hands against her temples.
“You don't understand. She was supposed to hand everything over before she died. Instead, she hid it and left everyone else to clean up her mess.””
“Everyone else?”” I repeated.
“Who exactly is everyone else?””
She looked at me with naked hatred.
“People who lost everything because of your mother.””
Michael grabbed her shoulder.
“Vanessa, enough.””
She shoved him away.
“No! I'm tired of watching you sacrifice everything for Claire. You lost your company, your reputation, and nearly your freedom because you couldn't stop loving a woman who walked away from you!””
The words struck me harder than I expected.
I looked at Michael.
“Your company?””
He stared at the floor.
Two years before our divorce, Michael had told me his investment firm was struggling. He said he needed to spend more time at work, travel more often, and make sacrifices for our future.
Months later, he began sleeping in the guest room.
Then he filed for divorce.
I had assumed he had fallen out of love with me.
“You told me the company was doing well,” I said.
“It was.””
“What happened?””
He rubbed his face.
“Your mother uncovered fraud inside the company. She found records proving that money had been moved through accounts belonging to several people. She wanted me to turn everything over to federal investigators.””
I stared at him.
“My mother was a music teacher.””
“She was also the accountant who helped my father establish his first business.””
That stopped me cold.
My mother had never mentioned it.
Michael continued, his voice barely audible.
“When I refused to believe her, she took the records. By the time I understood what she had found, she had disappeared.””
“She died in a hospital,” I said.
“I was there.””
“I know.””
“Then why are you talking about her disappearing?””
He looked at me with an expression I couldn't decipher.
“Because the records disappeared before she died.””
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“And now they're inside that violin. The same violin she left to Ava instead of giving it to the people who had a right to it.””
I looked down at the broken instrument.
My mother had given it to Ava six months before her death. I remembered the afternoon vividly: sunlight on the kitchen floor, the smell of cinnamon bread, my mother guiding Ava's tiny fingers across the strings.
She had told me the violin was special.
I had assumed she meant sentimentally.
“Why didn't you tell me any of this?”” I asked Michael.
“Because I was trying to protect you.””
“By divorcing me?””
His silence was answer enough.
Ava suddenly spoke.
“Grandma told me something.””
We all turned toward her.
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“She said if anybody ever broke my violin, I should look for the little silver star.””
I knelt beside her.
“What silver star, sweetheart?””
Ava pointed to the violin's tailpiece.
The broken strings had exposed a tiny silver star embedded beneath the dark wood. It was no bigger than a fingernail.
I had never noticed it before.
Vanessa took a step forward.
“Give that to me.””
I covered the star with my hand.
“No.””
“You don't understand what you're doing!””
“Then explain it.””
She opened her mouth, but Michael's phone rang again.
This time, he answered.
“Hello?””
A man's voice came through the speaker, loud enough for all of us to hear.
“Michael, I hope you've recovered the violin.””
Michael went rigid.
“Who is this?””
“You know exactly who this is.””
The caller paused.
“Tell Claire that if she wants to understand why her mother died, she should ask her ex-husband what happened on October seventeenth.””
My stomach turned.
October seventeenth.
The date my mother had been admitted to the hospital.
The date Michael had claimed he was in Chicago on a business trip.
I stared at him.
“Were you there?””
He didn't respond.
The caller chuckled.
“And Michael? Tell her about the money you transferred the night before Evelyn's accident.””
The line went dead.
Ava began sobbing.
I could barely hear her.
All I could see was Michael, standing motionless beside the staircase, his face drained of color.
“Claire,” he whispered, “whatever you do, don't open the envelope.””
I looked down.
Something had slipped from the violin's hollow body and landed beside my knee.
A small cream-colored envelope.
My mother's handwriting was unmistakable.
My name was written across the front.
*Claire Elizabeth Hart.*
May you like
And beneath it, in smaller letters, were five words that made my blood run cold.
*Read this only if Michael lies.*
